


Beacon and Shield

by DesertBanshee



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Books, Character Study, Eventual Smut, F/F, Religious Conflict, Romance, Slow Burn, The Chantry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertBanshee/pseuds/DesertBanshee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrust into a sudden position of authority and reeling from the loss of her brother, Jane Trevelyan struggles with faith and newfound power - and finds unexpected strength and companionship in Cassandra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jane can stand more or less presentably in the war room, nod thoughtfully, ask a question or give an answer if prompted. But her body is betraying her, little by little. She can’t sleep for fear of the things she sees when she closes her eyes: charred bodies and creatures with armored skin and claws and too many eyes. She’s a sack of bones, her hips and elbows and knees sharp and knobby. She quakes and trembles, a shriveled leaf blown in the wind, frozen brittle and racked with sobs. It’s so cold here, she never stops shivering. The bags under her eyes never fade, stained violet under translucent skin. She’s so tired, defenses breaking down, and it’s getting harder to hide. Harsh words make her flinch and she can’t keep her face from burning, her eyes from welling up. 

Her fingers drift to the worn parchment in her pocket of their own volition, seeking comfort. Most of the letter is burned beyond legibility, but she clings to the remaining scrap anyway, carefully smoothing it on the surface of her desk whenever she finds herself alone in her room.

_-mages and the Knight Commander seem to have high hopes for the Conclave. Speaking of which, I hear you’ll be joining the elder Trevelyans there? I am sure mother has gone weak-kneed at the news. I, however, cannot wait to see you. I only wish it were under better circumstances._

_Give everyone at the Chantry my best. I will see you at the temple. I’ll be the one in the plate armor._

_Love,  
S. Trevelyan_

Haven may be cold and desolate and unwelcoming, but at least they have plenty of books here. She’s pleased to find a few volumes on Dalish elves; the chapters on hunters inspire her to pick up her bow for the first time in weeks. She keeps the Chant of Light next to her bed in hopes of chasing away nightmares, a surprisingly engrossing history of Ferelden in her pack. Eventually she works up the nerve to ask Varric for a copy of _Tale of the Champion_ , which he gives enthusiastically along with a stack of his other work. “In case you get a chance between all the meetings and demons,” he says with a wink. 

“Are you -” Jane stifles a gasp and makes an effort to close her mouth as she finds Cassandra opposite her at the breakfast table. She has been, as usual, completely unaware of her surroundings. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Cassandra continues, shifts her weight to her other foot, then back, “I only wondered if you were looking for something to read. After....after you finish what you’re reading now, of course.”

Who is this woman? Certainly not the one who held a sword to Jane’s throat only a few weeks ago. The Seeker, a holy warrior, imposing and impressive. Though, Cassandra was not lacking in softness even then. Now without her armor, her sword and shield, her authoritative tone, she’s all propriety and awkwardness. The knot in Jane’s chest loosens. “Always,” she marks her page and sets her book aside, “I take it you had something in mind?”

The book Cassandra drops onto the table is heavy enough to rattle it on its legs. “I found a text on the Inquisition of old. I thought perhaps it may be useful for the members of the modern Inquisition to learn of their predecessors.” She smiles sheepishly as Jane lifts the dusty cover, “It is...dense, I know. The others seemed less than thrilled at the recommendation.” 

So Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine turned their noses up at the idea already. She must not have been so disarming when she approached them, because Jane cannot find it in her to refuse. “It can’t be that bad. I’ll give it a look.” 

“Good,” she nods, “I...look forward to your input.” Is that an attempted curtsey as she takes her leave? Jane holds a hand over her mouth, a gesture of silly young girls, she knows, but it’s disrespectful to smirk at the Right Hand of the Divine.

The book, which has no discernible title, is very dry reading indeed. Not to mention yellowed and caked with dust. But she trudges through because a morning spent with Cassandra is pleasant enough to make up for it. Neither has made significant progress upon their first meeting, so they spend the better part of their time discussing _Tale of the Champion_ , since Cassandra has read it thoroughly and has quite a few opinions on Varric’s account. “He exaggerates, I am certain,” she comments. Or “Of course he conveniently omits his own involvement. He is careful not to incriminate himself.” She is just as enamored with Hawke as Jane is, however, and evidently has no issues with Varric’s characterization.

Jane smiles, at first out of politeness and occasionally covert amusement at Cassandra’s unabashed earnestness, but it’s more than she can say of the past weeks. By the time an hour has gone by, she laughs freely, forgets to mind her speaking volume, and finishes her breakfast without a second thought. 

A messenger makes his way to their table, announcing that Leliana requests Cassandra’s presence.

“Tell her I will be just a moment,” she turns to Jane, “I am afraid we’ll have to continue another time.”

“Of course,” Jane waves her on. She wonders how much time has gone by since they sat down, a pang of disappointment at the abrupt parting. “We’ll do this again soon, I - I hope.”

Cassandra’s eyes widen momentarily. “I will make certain of it.”


	2. Chapter 2

A trek into the Hinterlands precludes their studies, as the book is far too heavy to be carried comfortably in a pack, but _Tale of the Champion_ comes along and makes for lively camp discussion. 

“I have to admit, I never imagined I’d hear two high-ranking Chantry members mooning over Hawke,” Varric laughs, “I wish she could see this.”

Jane protests that she isn’t exactly high-ranking, Cassandra that neither of them are on the best of terms with Chantry authority. Varric shrugs and says he takes what he can get.

“That is actually an interesting point,” Solas interjects, “Your work is enjoyed by Andrastian heretics.” 

Though she knows it’s true, the epithet stings. She steals a few glances at Cassandra, wondering if she feels the same, but her features betray nothing of her thoughts, and soon enough they’ve moved on to Commander Cullen’s appearance in the story. 

“He does seem...different now,” Jane says.

“You don’t know the half, Sister,” Varric mutters.

Cassandra says, “Yes, Jane, you should have seen his hair,” and they dissolve into laughter at the unexpected joke. Or rather, at the joke from an unexpected source. Cassandra folds her hands in her lap with a satisfied smile. 

Jane isn’t so afraid anymore, not as long as Cassandra’s there. She leads the charge as they traverse the countryside, and Jane breathes a little easier in her shadow. Still, the air is thick and crackling with residual magic - some sinister heaviness, the green-tinged sky lower than usual. It’s impossible to forget how wrong it all is.

“So,” Varric falls into step with her, “Where’s a Chantry sister learn how to use a bow? Arming yourself for the perils of the archives?”

“I...study religious artifacts,” Jane replies cautiously. This is hardly the place for idle conversation. Plus, Varric’s way of casually asking insightful questions unsettles her, makes her feel under investigation. “It’s occasionally useful in the field, but I took it up when I was a girl.”

“Well, that’s intrepid. You ever have to use it?”

“Not until now,” Jane mutters.

Muffled shouting. Some places they hear the fighting before they see it. Smell it too. Blood soaking into the ground. She never knew it could smell so strongly. It doesn’t seem to phase the others, but it makes Jane’s skin prickle. An omen, a prophecy come true. She can still hear Sorley’s voice, low and unusually tremulous, “It’s too late now. We’ll be ankle-deep in blood before this is over.” 

“On your guard!” Cassandra raises her shield, and Jane shakes herself as she readies her bow. It isn’t time to think about him now.

They approach carefully from high ground and fall into formation easily, just as Cassandra instructed. Jane can’t help but notice she’s a better shot under pressure - her instructor was right when he told her she’d do better to get out of her head. If only she could stay out once their adversaries are defeated. Templars strewn on the ground like litter, identical in their armor. Too familiar, too horrible, too much. 

She staves off the pressure in her throat until she can curl into herself in her tent and scream silently.


End file.
